


Seduction Deduction

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Attraction Distraction [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Mycroft Holmes, Choking, Consensual Non-Consent, M/M, Mind Games, Mindfuck, Mycroft Being Mycroft, One Night Stands, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Rape Roleplay, Showers, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 07:23:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20738429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: The key card swiped him in, and he closed the door behind him and took a deep unsteady breath before throwing the key card on the expensive table on the way in. He stopped there, in the 'living room space', and shrugged out of his jacket, before starting in on the tiny fucking buttons of the waistcoat, while trying to simultaneously toe off his shoes.He couldn't believe this was happening. It was true what they said, the brain was sexy and Mycroft’s brain was un-fucking-believable. He plugged into fantasies Sebastian wasn't even sure he acknowledged, and drew them out and then offered them to him on a plate in that upper-class Oxford accent as if they were discussing afternoon tea.Cucumber sandwich and pre-consented non-consensual sex? Oh yes please...





	Seduction Deduction

Ballrooms in hotels all looked the same. The chairs were the same, and were stacked the same at the end of the event. The tables were the same. The only difference was that the higher the ceiling, the more likelihood that there would be some expensive chandeliers, and the cost to stay there per night would be higher. With the size of each delegation, and the tendency to erect security fences and to not share spaces in the late evening across delegations, it had implications on how heavily packed the hotel was. But on balance, there were also the staging rooms, the breakouts, and bloody hell he needed to let his mind wander to other things.

There was giving his mind a rest after the day he'd had, and then there was letting it go for a run without a leash, and somehow it had settled on logistics and security to entertain itself as he loitered to the outside edge of the ballroom. It made him think of regimental balls, and the drinking was about the same, while the likelihood of him getting laid was... just as depressingly low, because what he always ended up pulling at regimental events were eager drunk enlisteds who wanted to be taken in hand by their Colonel in all the right ways. It was unseemly to take them up on their offers, and he wasn't that kind of predator.

When he'd been tasked to attend the summit, he'd thought it was insane to add him to the negotiating body. He didn't fit, but he also knew or was known by enough heads of mission to make him... sort of fit.

Sideways.

In an uncomfortable way that as soon as he'd seen Mycroft Holmes on the fringes of the traveling clusterfuck two days earlier, he'd known what his true task was: He was assigned there to fuck with someone on the other side, just by being himself. 

He had wondered why he had warranted an invite, living in fear that it might be some prequel to getting those General's stars he had been trying to avoid for years. He was career military, but he never wanted to climb that high. It was still possible, and the board results would be coming out that week. He wondered if Holmes knew, and that keeping his brain intensely busy in regards to Syria was an attempt to keep him from doing anything rash.

The high pay checks of the attendees showed in the high-end fashion of those at the formal dinner. Well, more like a banquet from the number of courses on the elegant calligraphy menu. Mycroft was looking neat and sharp, lurking behind some of the brasher personalities. He wondered if he had unknowingly fulfilled his purpose.

For all he knew, it was to do the very precise work he'd provided, which was based on years of knowledge, political study, hands on experience in that war zone, and an underhanded interest in gossip and who had whose interests and debts in mind.

Or, it had been to piss off some of those brasher personalities, which he had also done with precision fire.

He shifted away from his quiet spot against the wall, to snag a drink from a passing waiter.

Champagne apparently. He glanced around looking to see if he could spot who might be watching him warily. He might as well go and make someone as uncomfortable as he felt.

He took another sip, and started to circulate, knowing that military bearing would get him through the crowd until he felt like talking to someone. Now, if Holmes was counting on him to be himself, who would he naturally go to bother?

The yanks.

They were always good for a wind up. He was pretty sure he saw an intelligence guy masquerading as some form of envoy.

He was trying to remember which member of the alphabet soup he came from.

They just needed to come out and name one of their agencies FKRE. The Finance Keeping no, damn that didn't work. He smiled, taking another sip of his champagne as he watched the fellow try to blend in and look ditzy. As if everyone there didn't have an agenda, and he expected looking like he didn't have an agenda to be a protection of some kind?

"Colonel Moran?" a voice said next to him. Oh god an old diplomatic blowhard who knew his father.

"Cunningham," he said pleasantly. "Jasper, I hadn't seen you yet. I'm surprised you're here..." You outdated, useless dinosaur, whose idea of diplomacy went right back to the empire, and probably involved bayonets.

"I was invited by the Prime Minister of course," Jasper said. "He felt there was a need for experience in the Middle East to be at the table if you know what I mean." He knocked back a large drink. "Mm. Scotch is decent enough. Better than what we could get out there. Mind you your father always seemed to know where to get the goods eh?"

"He did. He was an inveterate drunkard, I was always proud of his ability to out drink any other leader," Sebastian deadpanned. "So, will you be seeing you in the planning meetings tomorrow morning for our input to the joint communique? Since I didn't see you there earlier, or were you in trade?"

"Trade of course,” Jasper said. "Wrangling. Bloody Yanks think they are the only once capable of having trade agreement. I've heard the military planning meetings have been interesting. Perhaps I should jump tracks."

"I've enjoyed myself." He smiled, with all the teeth god had given the Moran family, and let himself slowly scan the room, rather than look at Jasper. The man's long, hangdog face was putting him off his urge to get laid. "They needed more grounding in the realities of what will happen if they make their 'easy' decisions."

Jasper gave the fake laugh he wondered if all diplomats were taught. "I bet you have. Ah, I need to speak to the French Ambassador. He owes me a drink."

Not subtle diplomat speak for saying he owed him a favour.

"Good to see you," he said, finding his previous target again as he drained the glass and headed for the American Intel representative of dubious utility. Still, it would be a distraction, and he was going to pinball around the room like an over-ranked hand grenade until he felt the urge to smoke, or the rubber chicken sought its revenge.

Wherever he looked up from his chitchat he would just catch a glimpse of Mycroft somewhere just to the side of his line of vision. It was uncanny and probably completely deliberate.

He managed to converse with a wide range of VIPS, and only a couple of them seem traumatised by the experience. And his father said he would never make a diplomat.

His father had been bloody right, but it still left him with a sense of victory when he did swan off to stand outside and have a smoke. He'd wanted to turn on Mycroft and demand to know what the fuck, but that wasn't how the man had ever worked, and it would've been a waste of both their time. But it left him keyed up, and it was going to prey on his mind.

It shouldn't have surprised him to find that the man doing exactly the same thing leaning up against the wall was Mycroft smoking his own expensive cigarettes. "Well done, I think you've broken your personal best for small talk."

"I thought you brought me here for something, so I'd figured I'd best keep at it. Wouldn't want to waste the per diem." He lit up a cigarette he'd fished out of his jacket pocket, and pulled a lighter out of his pants pocket. "You look pleased, Mycroft."

"Your levels of deduction are surging out of control," the man replied. "It has been rather amusing to watch you stalk around like a tiger amongst sheep."

He sighed, and inhaled slowly from his cigarette. If he had to do that every day of the week, he'd top himself. "I'm a bloody trained dog, and I've got a feeling you're about to yank my leash, sir."

"Nothing so crude," Mycroft answered. "You've already accomplished what I needed from you. Rather well in fact." His sharp eyes looked over him as he actually took a drink from the champagne he had.

"I'm glad." It was a weird thing to say, but it had been a weird week, and Mycroft Holmes was drinking, so surely what happened next was that the Deep Ones came up onto the shore and overran them all. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"You are always of service to Queen and Country," Mycroft said. "I indulge because a long game has finally found its conclusion tonight. The final thread of a network pulled."

And if it was Holmes, it was a bloody huge network. It was the sort of work that he envied in a way, as he was increasingly becoming distanced from the sort of work he'd loved. And it was probably going to get worse. "Then congratulations are in order, Mycroft."

"Sadly, I have only myself to offer me congratulations," Mycroft answered. He was still staring at him. "You too should be rewarded for your unwitting use."

That...sounded oddly like flirting.

And Christ, that was more his speed than upcomers who wanted to flex their daddy issues and get a leg over the chain of command. He quirked at eyebrow at Mycroft, and considered, but not too long, before he opened his mouth. "Savaging that nepotistic American from the meetings was a reward unto itself. But if you have any ideas...."

Mycroft actually laughed and it was tempting to check to see if it was a sign of the apocalypse. "All I have are ideas, every moment of the day."

"Ideas you can share with me. You know, at my level." He exhaled slowly, and gestured somewhere down around his knee.

"There is a danger to that with me," Mycroft said very slowly looking down. "It's reason I rarely indulge in alcohol."

"I'm not one to encourage a man to drink, but I'm open to danger." This was going to a very interesting place, and he kept his eyes on Mycroft's face in case something shifted.

"Yes, you are, aren't you?" Mycroft said suddenly looking him straight in the eye. He took another mouthful of the champagne swallowing it down. "Tell me Colonel, what do you know about me?"

"Conjuncture and speculation based on our previous encounters, with a good dash of rumour. So, very little." But he knew that the man had saved his career from himself, when he'd been in a complete rage and killed that traitorous police chief who'd been 'cooperating' with his regiment.

He'd been waiting for the blow of a dishonourable discharge and it had never happened. The killing had apparently 'never happened'.

"My younger brother and I would place games when we were children," Mycroft said. "Our favourite was called 'Deduction', Of course then it was the mere minutiae of people's humdrum existences but as we grew older, well there are other things to deduce." Mycroft look at him with a faint smile. "For some reason being able to deduce every dark and filthy detail about someone's sexual fantasies and proclivities upsets most people."

His balls gave him a warning of sorts, an ache, because that was starting to sound like it might be worth putting on the mess dress for. "Their loss; I think I'm in touch with mine. Might be wrong, though." He blew his smoke up, speculatively.

"I have watched you tonight," Mycroft commented. "Working the room and dear me you have had a bit of a dry spell, haven't you? Because you fantasised about every single one of them. That was the first clue - though obviously having a strong preference for men when you were talking to the Italian military liaison, you fantasise about those inch-long nails clawing slowly over your chest, then became fixated on the image of them running up and down your shaft, pressing in so you had to hold your breath to not draw blood. Then you smiled politely and ate another after dinner mint."

Fuck. He felt his face flushing red, and there went his erection, straining against his well fitted pants. Mycroft was smiling, a sly, wicked thing that curled his mouth as he inhaled around his cigarette. "You're not wrong. And every corner I turned, there you are."

"Oh yes. And incidentally that young captain would definitely gone down on his knees for you, but he was too soft for what you really wanted to do and had emotional history that the beating, no matter how well done would have triggered." Mycroft blew smoke in the air. "Perhaps I should introduce you to my brother’s flatmate. You have a very compatible type. He would most definitely let you indulge in bondage and would make you work to break him. It would take you probably 8 months for him to give you his tears but he'd take a bullet for you after the first night you stayed."

Christ and fuck, the man was painting pretty pictures in the air and he wanted any of that, it was brilliantly true and sharp, and he wanted to know how Mycroft knew except it fitted with the man. He knew, he knew everything he cared to know and Sebastian trusted for some reason to not question that. "And what do you want?"

"To see what you want when you look at me," Mycroft said. "After all your mental sexual adventures around the ballroom, to me sometimes everyone is having a giant orgy in front of me. " He turned to looked at Sebastian, his eyes roaming with deliberate thoroughness.

He let him take his fill, finishing off his cigarette. Sebastian knew he was a good looking, fancy bloody uniform or not, but that didn't matter much when you were all head, did it?

"Well well," Mycroft said. "What a lovely mess of contradictions you are Sebastian." He stepped closer, right into his personal space. His hand lifted and very carefully he touched fingers to a pulse point on his carotid artery. "It happened once by accident didn't it? Things getting a bit rough and he gripped you around the neck and....squeezed. And everything reacted, and coming back was like being born again in some seedy dim corner of a military quarters. But you've never trusted anyone enough to ask for it have you?" His hand cupped speculatively across his throat.

He swallowed, and knew it pressed back against those fingers, against the stiff fabric of his jacket collar. Sebastian didn't move for a long moment, just leaned into it. They were in public, in a facility surrounded by security, Mycroft Holmes had his hand just lightly against his throat, and he was suddenly hard as a rock. "No." His voice came out more of a groan. "Didn't know where to start."

"Oh, it needs to be done by an expert," Mycroft said softly. "A silk tie can make for a lovely contrast, all that smooth slippery fabric and the tightness. But there is something more visceral about the hand. Hot, and the digging in of nails as you try to stop it." He removed his hand. "That's not all you want though is it?"

He had a hand down, reaching out, fingers brushing the edge of Mycroft's tuxedo jacket. He wanted to touch, to grab, but he didn't dare without permission, without establishing something. Fuck, what did he want, could he even be half as self-aware as Mycroft was of others? "I want to take you roughly, muss you up, I..."

"Specifically, you want to overpower me, " Mycroft took another drink. "In a shower, push me up against the wall, and rape me." He gave an unexpected smile. "I am not averse. So, I propose the following; you come back to my room, and I'll asphyxiate you until you are in a frenzy and then let you do as you will."

"Christ, you are unbelievable." In a good way, and was shaking with a need to close the space between them and they were in public and if he wanted to flush his career away a second time that was on him but he wouldn't do anything to harm someone else. "Yes. Now, before I do anything more inadvisable than I've done all evening."

"Quite." He handed him a room key. "Do try to find your way there without barging people out of the way. I will go by another route. Disrobe when you get there, by the time I am done with you, the last thing you will want to do is stop to take them off before you satiate your desires."

Sebastian took the key, and tucked it into his jacket, same pocket as his cigarettes, and then snapped out a salute in what he would later call a fit of whimsey, but he couldn't quite be sure. He headed back the way he'd come, ducking back into the ballroom, and hoping to god to get through the place smoothly.

It was a little bit awkward, considering his erection felt like he was going to burst out of his dress uniform but he managed to avoid another foray by Jasper and headed toward one of the luxury suites.

The key card swiped him in, and he closed the door behind him and took a deep unsteady breath before throwing the key card on the expensive table on the way in. He stopped there, in the 'living room space', and shrugged out of his jacket, before starting in on the tiny fucking buttons of the waistcoat, while trying to simultaneously toe off his shoes.

He couldn't believe this was happening. It was true what they said, the brain was sexy and Mycroft’s brain was un-fucking-believable. He plugged into fantasies he wasn't even sure he acknowledged and drew them out and then offered them to him on a plate in that upper-class Oxford accent as if they were discussing afternoon tea.

Cucumber sandwich and pre-consented non-consensual sex? Oh yes please...

He laughed to himself, and folded his waistcoat before pulling his shirt off, watching the door, moving as fast as he could without shaking like an overexcited dog.

He was nearly there at the point when Mycroft entered the room. Nearly completely naked and Mycroft shut the door behind him, locking it and then quickly and efficiently swept for bug in a manner which showed it was a habit. He paused for a moment and looked Sebastian up and down and nodded.

It was hard to guess whether he'd been just deemed acceptable, or whether the man had just confirmed that every deduction he'd ever made was correct. Probably both at the same time, and he set his pants down on the top of the neat pile of clothes, tilting his head thoughtfully. "Can I undress you?"

"Yes," Mycroft said simply enough, walking over without hesitation. "I think that will be pleasurable."

Some people looked like they were playing games when they dressed to the nines, and some folks looked like it was second skin. He slid his hands gently into Mycroft's jacket, at collarbone level, to gentle it off of his shoulders, watching his facial expression, imagining he could see the wheels turning in his head.

"I do enjoy you taking the time to do this when you could come from a touch right now," Mycroft said. "Seeing your body tells me so much more about you. Your thoughts play in your muscles. They are shivering with adrenalin and all I am doing is standing here."

He shucked Mycroft's jacket off, and held onto it, leaning back to set it on the table before he lifted his hands to pull at the man's necktie. They were of a height, and it was very easy to look him in the eye. "It's all in the head, isn't it? Everything is. In the end."

"Yes, and I am... particularly skilled in that domain," Mycroft said," Though I seldom allow myself the pleasure of indulgence, but you are indeed hard to resist. You feel a sexual thrill from handling your guns. The smell of gun oil, gives you a feeling that becomes a warmth. You fantasise about guns too, but the sniper in you is too realistic to treat a gun like that."

He felt his eyes close against his will, a flutter as the thought passed through his mind, because safety first. Sebastian dropped his eyes for a moment to start working at the tiny buttons of Mycroft's shirt, and his waistcoat. "It's hard to not think about that sometimes." He tried to keep his breathing slow and calm.

"You like the thought of it, but the thought is the cold metal of it, the hard and sharp of it pushing in and the smell of gun oil as...oh, perhaps I should stop talking," Mycroft said. "Your erection is a little overwrought."

He swallowed a groan, and chuckled, pushing Mycroft's shirt off his sides, letting fingers skim skin slowly. "I promise to not go off like a fire cracker."

"You are meant to be holding yourself to a frenzy," Mycroft chided him raising his hand and running his thumb unerringly along that spot on his jawline that made his knees go weak. Ah well, I can sacrifice my bow tie to the cause of holding you back."

He leaned into Mycroft then, let his body make contact with the other man's, and his skin was warm and just a little flushed feeling, so he knew he was having an impact. Sebastian turned his head to whisper, "only if you want to," while he pushed those clothes off. He had a half a plan and Mycroft probably knew what he was going to do before he did.

It felt like the negotiation had happened in silence, underneath the skin. The black bowtie slid off, twined around Mycroft's long fingers, and then he reached down and the feeling of the fingers over his hot skin made it hard to focus. Material tightening, a knot adjusted to press just there against a key vein and... it was enough.

It made him shudder, close his eyes and press the side of his head against Mycroft's for a moment as he regathered himself. The man's cologne smelled deep, expensive, like tobacco and fuck he wanted to fuck, and it drove him to his knees. He started on the buttons, getting them open so he could slide the zipper down.

"When you go to your knees you just want to be told how good you are don't you?" Mycroft said, his fingers tangling in his hair. "If your hair was longer I would pull your head back with it, expose that neck."

He stepped out of the trousers once Seb had pulled them down.

"If my hair was longer, I'd be out of regs," he countered, pressing into those fingers in a way that felt so. So fucking good, and went right down to his aching cock. He helped the man take his shoes off, and then shifted his attention to Mycroft's cock, encased in tight black underwear. It suited him.

"Mm, and what type of example would you be then?" Mycroft said. "do you want something there Sebastian?" His fingers trailed down to the sides of his throat where he just lightly stroked over skin.

He'd be the type of example he actually was, rather than the role he was playing to be a good example. Instead, he leaned forward and used a hand to hook the fabric down, before he leaned forward to press his mouth against the side of Mycroft's erection.

"Show me your skills, and I'll reward you," Mycroft murmured. "You do deserve a reward for all that work you've done for me. For being so good."

Dammit, how did he know how to follow his changing moods so effortlessly. No-one else noticed when he switched from one to the other and back again.

He exhaled, and leaned into those fingers again as he kissed his way along Mycroft's dick before taking it into his mouth at the head. He hadn't planned to use hands at all, didn't need to steady himself as he started to slowly work back and forth, but he brought one up to rest against Mycroft's hip, touching warm skin while the other reached up to gently cup his balls. His hair was neatly trimmed, and just what Sebastian would've expected.

His hands were gently stroking down the sides of his neck and throat, fingertips divining somethings about his state of arousal.

"It is a common misconception that you need to apply pressure to the windpipe to cause asphyxiation," he said softly. He was remarkably posed for someone having a blow job. "But if I do, perhaps if you are good enough, I could stroke my own cock in your throat."

He groaned, and leaned in, taking him as deep as he could before swallowing, eyes tipped up to see as much as he could. He wanted to unwind the man, to shake that calm, and he was going to find a traction point.

Mycroft made a pleased noise, but then seemed to be deliberately holding the calm. It was like a provocation of sorts. His hand did grip firmly around his throat as he swallowed.

Choking both ways, inside and out, and he pulled back with a wet slurp, feeling heat rise in his face as he inhaled through his nose and let the head of Mycroft's cock longer against his lips. The urge to come was deep, uncomfortable, but the tie was tied tight enough to keep it from hitting him.

"Look at me." Mycroft demanded suddenly, his hand tightening around his throat with surprising strength. All that caressing had allowed him to map the area. "Look at me Sebastian" A thumb pressed unerringly on his carotid artery as well as the tightness elsewhere.

He tipped his head back, still cupping and playing with Mycroft's balls, and met Mycroft's eyes, taking slow careful breaths. His hand was like a vise, but vises could be broken and he didn't have a panic urge pressing just yet.

His eyes were so sharp it felt like they were cutting him. The pressure increased, the airflow became harder to find and dizziness set in. And then it vanished all together.

"I hold your life here," Mycroft murmured.

Sebastian sucked in a deep breath, and then another, keeping calm, cock fucking leaking between his legs, and Mycroft's hand was still touching his skin. "Not much, is it?"

"It's everything," Mycroft said, choking him in earnest now.

He moved his other hand to rest on Mycroft's hip, though the clutch was more reflexive than planned. He could match calm for calm, except he couldn't and that was the problem, had always been the problem, and he strained, damn near squirming on his knees as he pressed against Mycroft's fingers, twisting a little. Fuck he was so hard.

He could feel a roaring pressure in his eardrums, a desperation to breathe and his eye sight started to grey out. Instinct took over, as a surge of fear and adrenalin hit his bloodstream.

Sebastian's hands clenched, spasmed, and the last thing he was going to know was Mycroft's hips under his fingers, and his eyes boring down, and that was okay, or it wasn't okay but it was a hell of a great way to go, except some part of him wanted to survive.

And then... release. The pressure abruptly vanished leaving him to suck in oxygen in deep whooping breaths making everything snap back to vibrant colour and sensation and a whole-body tingle and sweep of the shakes.

He had to lean against Mycroft, rising the dizzy wave as he shivered and tried to contain himself, feeling the fingers against his neck, still, lingering. "Christ."

"Does it feel like you remember?" Mycroft murmured, stroking over his flesh. "The world crashing in and brought back to life?"

"Yes." Just like, only he wasn't disoriented completely, just high and feeling wild on the adrenaline, and on his knees still, which was a damn sight better than the last time. He sucked in one more big breath, feeling completely undone. Fuck. "Better."

"Good. Suck me again Sebastian, you are altogether too...compliant for what I want," Mycroft said with a quirk of a smile. "An interesting reaction."

He chuckled, feeling deeply muzzy and relaxed as he picked up again, pulling back a little and resettling his position, leaning up to take Mycroft's cock in his mouth again. They were both still hard, so something of that had pleased Mycroft, and he'd think about it later.

He gave it his full attention for a while, Mycroft merely making the odd appreciative noise and his bodily reaction showing more of his interest than anything else.

"You know, I should savour this," Mycroft mused aloud. "It is not every day a fresh new General gives me such intimate pleasure."

Mycroft had to be fucking kidding.

It broke through the excited haze of "I bloody fucking survived" like the sound of a drone over a Taliban soccer game, and Sebastian pulled back, staring up at Mycroft along the length of his body, as calm morphed into something closer to hysteria. Not that he would ever admit it. "You're joking."

"Now why would I joke about such good news?" Mycroft said and his mouth gave a smug little quirk. "I do believe it will be announced tomorrow, barring any...last minute changes."

He was going to lose his unit. He'd have had to leave it be rotated or even just retired out after failing the boards enough times, but he didn't want to be chained to a desk and spoon staff work. A world where his work wasn't of any use, where he didn't have a real hands on impact... He kept his eyes on Mycroft, standing up and feeling himself shaking with the anxiety of it. "You can't."

"Oh, I think you'll find it was nothing to do with me and all to do with your own heroics," Mycroft said carelessly, and the fucker was doing this on purpose. It could be a lie.

It needed to be a lie, in a way that curled deep into his chest, and ebbed back his giddy urge to come, ceding way to a flush that was crawling over his face and down his chest from his neck. His hands came up, from a casual caress against Mycroft's sides to clutch at his shoulders, pushing him backward. "No. You know I'm not fit for that, I don't want to pin rank..."

"Oh, you want something do you?" Mycroft stepped backwards. " Look at you, suddenly all aggression and panic. You can't just force a decision to be reversed you know."

He could though. Mycroft had that power and he knew it, and Mycroft was waving it in front of him.

"I can try. I can remind you why it's a fucking terrible idea, I'm not going to rot behind a desk at headquarters..." He pushes Mycroft hard against the wall, overcoming his yielding steps, and used his upper body to pin him in place while he groped for the man's hands.

"Oh, you’re going to remind me?" Mycroft taunted him. He tried to pull away. "You think I'm one of your men you can just fuck into obedience?"

"No, I shout at them," he muttered, grabbing one hand and crushing it into a fist, and then getting a hold of the other one after fighting for it. There wasn't any pulling away, he had him pinned, pinned and with no real traction, while Sebastian had all of it. "But I'm going to remind you."

"It would have to be something rather spectacular to stick in my mind," Mycroft's attempts to get loose were frankly laughable

He slammed Mycroft's hands hard against the wall, over his head, once he had him caught. "This will stick in your mind."

"I could get away from you any time," Mycroft practically hissed at him and he just wanted to wipe the superior look on his face away.

"You fucking try it." He knew the next bit was the tricky bit -- manhandling him against the expensive wallpaper, until he had Mycroft pinned against it. He jammed a leg between Mycroft's, and used his thigh as leverage.

The slippery bastard did try and give him the slip as he rolled him. He wasn't being cooperative in the process at all, and Seb found himself having to exert himself to get him in place.

The man knew some martial art, but Sebastian knew street, boxing and how to be a mean fucker, and that was serving the purpose as he slammed Mycroft's chest against the wall and that was gorgeous purchase, pressing his body all along the man's back, his still tied off cock coming back up to full interest again.

He could take that off whenever he wanted, but he wanted Mycroft to feel this for a long fucking time. He knew he'd feel the length of him, the heat of him pressing up against his ass. The attempt to struggle were just making him more hyped up.

He got one hand by the wrist, thumb digging into tendons as he twisted it behind Mycroft's back. "You're not going anywhere until I'm done with you. "

"You wouldn't dare," Mycroft half mumbled from where he was pressed against the wall. "Let me go!"

It was said in a weak voice and Seb knew Holmes could command. He'd heard that voice send a thrill right up his leg and into his balls, but that wasn't the voice just then. God in the government was pinned in hard, and if he tried to move in the wrong direction he was going to snap his wrist. It was risky to reach fingers down, to not pin him with both hands, but he slid two fingers down his crack, slow feeling heat and sweat. Sweat wasn't going to be enough.

Maybe it would have to be on the bed after all, there would be lube in the drawer and he could really pound into him or...

The finger slipped in, smoother than there was any reason to, and then a second finger, and Sebastian chuckled against the back of Mycroft's neck, trying to twist his hand well enough to try for three. "You're fucking eager for it, huh?"

"Preparation is key," Mycroft answer pushing back. "But then a General would know that."

"You'd better be saying that to take the piss out of me or I'm going to leave something dislocated," he growled, slipping in that third fingers and then taking his time firmly pushing in and out, and Christ he was slick, tight and hot. He pulled his fingers out, because that was more than enough readiness -- hah -- and grasped his dick to stop fucking aimlessly at Mycroft's asscheeks.

He wanted it rough, he was going to get it that way. He was going to do what he said on the balcony; mess him up, take him hard. The fire was back in him now.

Maybe all of his wits hadn't returned yet, but the hot pressing urge to wreck Mycroft was back as he aimed his cockhead and started to push in. Not slow, but steady, unforgiving as he eased in until he was balls deep and his hips were pressed against Mycroft's ass, holding him bodily against the wall with one arm twisted behind him.

That got a sound out of the man; even if he had prepped himself it would have been a while ago and that had to burn like hell. He like the thought of him feeling him today, tomorrow whenever, leaving marks on him somehow. Shaking that composure to the ground, crushing it up against the wall.

He didn't waste time, pulling his hips back and thrusting in with a hard jolt that shook through Mycroft's body. The sound was amazing, the way the man's body seemed to slip free of his control just a little.

That was what he wanted, to destroy that façade of control. God yes, the noises he made at the thrust, a choked grunt as if trying to bite back pain, trying not to give him his sounds of coming undone.

Sebastian wanted to unravel the man, sliding his free hand down to palm Mycroft's stomach, intimate non-sexual touch as he thrust into him hard enough to put him up onto his toes.

He did it again, a couple of times and the third that went very deep drew a ragged "Jesus fuck..." from the man who usually sounded like he'd swallowed a thesaurus.

He nearly chortled against the side of Mycroft's jaw, and slid his hand down to grasp the man's dick. Sebastian was losing the grasp of his focus, because he was so close, so damn close, and he fell into a rhythm. Mycroft was beautiful beneath him, against him, little body language gestures doing more than slipping free, no, they were bleeding out.

It was like a work of art coming together under his hands and his thrusting need. His hair was mussed, and his eyes closed as he roughly and forcefully jacked him off in time to his thrusts, starting to lose himself in it.

"Fuck, you're still tight. Do you want to come? Do I even give a shit if you do?" He turned his head, bit lightly at the side of Mycroft's neck. The shame of it was that he needed to get the fucking cockring off before he died, but he needed more hands.

It was only a bowtie, but it was a pain in the ass to get off. The bite seemed to make Mycroft's knees go weak and he exploited that moment of shakiness to pull at the restraint. How often did he Mycroft do this? No often from the feel of his ass.

It wasn't safe to seek out good random fucks when you were high ranking, and half the time his head was probably too far away to waste the effort. Sebastian sucked that spot, and then bit again as he finally started to thrust freely into that wonderful tight ass again.

He'd let Mycroft’s arm go now, so deep in him that he couldn’t escape even if he wanted to try. He was sweating down his back, muscles trembling at the sheer force being brought to bear. The muttered swearing was being dragged out of him and the harder he got, the more he fought as if orgasm would be his undoing.

Sebastian stroked faster, not too firm, but faster, driving and pushing and they couldn't get through the wall but he fucking well wanted to try to drive Mycroft through it. "You beautiful brainy bastard, c'mon..."

He wasn't giving it up easy, but in the end, Mycroft had no choice because he wrung the orgasm from him in the end. He felt the moment as he tightened around him and then all his muscles went lax all at once.

A few last thrusts, and he was done in a desperate surge of hip twisting and panting, because it was a struggle to let go after so long of waiting. Then he stood, keeping them both upright and letting his hands settle on Mycroft's hips, focusing on his breathing.

"Okay. Let's get you into the shower..."

"It... would appear..." Mycroft managed to say unevenly, "that you have fucked my knees out from under me."

He took a step back from the wall, careful to support Mycroft. "I'll help you get them back under you, too. 'M dead helpful that way."

"Apparently so," Mycroft answered as he leaned heavily on him to be guided into the shower. He couldn't help but smirk a little.

He tended to be quiet in the comedown, and it was hard to guess what was going on in the man's head was Sebastian turned the tap on, one hand still idling firmly on Mycroft's hipbone. Quite the bloody workout, all in all, and the lightness was back after the rage. "Anything hurting unnecessarily?"

"Hurting just right, thank you," Mycroft answered and that was a hell of a way to put it. "Are you satisfied with your experience?"

That was also a hell of a way to put it, he decided, catching a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. In the morning he was going to have a ring of bruises around his neck, and he also did not give a shit at all if his uniform would cover it or not. "Haven't had better in decades."

Mycroft gave a smug little smile at that as they staggered into the shower. "Your performance is most... memorable."

"I'm still hoping that you were taking the piss out of me about the boards," he murmured, lifting his eyebrows as he reached out to grab the bar of soap.

"A little, yes, a little no," Mycroft answered as he turned the water on and warmth started to cover them both.

He groaned quietly, the not fun groan, and helped to soap the man as he ducked his own head under the water. He was feeling really good and muzzy, and he'd just have to learn to live with it. Put his papers in. Figure out what he was going to do. Not just then, though.

"Ah, do not despair because some unscrupulous government official has blocked your appointment for their own nefarious purposes," Mycroft said joining in with the soap.

He could see a gleam in Mycroft's eyes, that made him wonder. "That sounds hopeful." He closed his eyes, and settled into water and feeling Mycroft's body under his hands and the occasional bump while they cleaned off. It was good, and he was too fucked out to let it get awkward.

"Mm, shocking really. Because you do deserve a promotion because you are far and away one of the most superior officers in Her Majesties forces," Mycroft was still leaning on him a lot.

He was more than happy to manhandle and wash at the same time. "Not cut out for endless paperwork and swanning about."

"Mm. And here I was thinking you were looking forward to it," Mycroft said, rinsing off. The man had bruises on him, not subtle ones either.

Come the morning, they'd both cover them in cloth and uniforms, and the whole thing would recede back. Except it wouldn't, not really, and Sebastian chuckled. "Terribly exciting in all the wrong ways."

Mycroft reached to turn off the shower. "I think I might need help back to the bed. I'm sure we could both use a few hours sleep before we get up." It seemed he was being invited to stay. He got the impression that was unusual.

He wasn't going to say now, and it spared him the dance of whether to ask or shuck on his clothes and slip out into a hallway that was possibly busy with other drunks seeking their own entertainment for the evening. "Let me help towel you off." A hot shower and a big dry towel were just the thing.

"Is this what they mean about your reputation for taking care of your men?" Mycroft asked, allowing him to do as he pleased.

He chuckled, mostly to himself, as he towelled Mycroft off in slow lingering strokes. "I also volunteer to cover duty shifts when they have family events. It's full service, really."

"An exemplary one," he said limping a little gingerly towards the bed. "Come. I said such service should be rewarded. And I hope this will make up for the Generals stars I have stolen from your future."

"Wouldn't have been a long future," Sebastian mused, not asking yet what nefarious purpose he'd been snagged for. For the moment, he was tired, and muzzy and everything felt good.

Mycroft ease himself into the bed and invited him to join him. "I may have arranged for you to stay as Colonel, but I need access on frequent occasions to individuals able to lead or participate in certain...operations."

He settled in, and pulled the sheets up, snagging a pillow. "That sounds like it has promise. Good promise."

"Yes, for everyone involved," he said and settled. "I abhor waste Sebastian and putting you behind a desk would be waste of the worst kind."

It was a strange relaxing thing to turn over in his mind, as he laid there and felt Mycroft warm and relaxed beside him. Come the morning, he had a feeling everything would ice up again, but it had been a hell of an evening.


End file.
